


i want to belong here

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I come to Russia with you?” </p><p>Zhenya’s brain fritzes out for a second. “Sorry?” he asks, thinking he’s misheard. </p><p>Years of pining can do that to a person -- make you believe that the object of your affections wants something more than they really do. Sid’s gone bright pink and is staring at the floor, so maybe it’s not pining-induced insanity. Sanja will be pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want to belong here

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t want to post this just yet because there was another fic a few days ago of epic length and similar themes, but my Twitter feed said do it, so I’m doing it. I think I’m safe enough in saying that if Sid goes to Russia, there’s gonna be some overlap so that's why it might seem familiar, sorry! I’ve futzed about with things, namely that Geno doesn’t go to Worlds and there wouldn’t be any exhibition football games while they’re in Moscow. More notes at the end. 
> 
> I blame o_contrary for encouraging this hot mess, because everything I write these days is her fault. I need to stop gchatting her with ridiculous ideas because she gives them legitimacy. Huge thanks to her, oflights and alcatraz for coaxing my timeline abuse and grammar into something resembling decency. "Why is there so much pouting?" is probs one of my favourite beta notes yet.

\--

Zhenya’s searching for his Russian power adaptor when the doorbell goes and Jeffrey starts barking.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans, halfway under his bed. How the adaptor ended up here is beyond him, but it’s just out of arms’ reach and now some asshole is ringing his doorbell. If it’s Nealer come to whine about being away from Paulie’s cooking for the summer, he’s going to shut the door in his dumb face. He’ll buy him a ticket to Minneapolis, but then he’ll shut the door.

Jeffrey’s barking is reaching a fever pitch as Zhenya’s trying to wriggle out from under his bed, when footsteps come to his door.

“Zhenya, the doorbell rang,” Max says. His voice is thick, so he’s eating whatever leftovers are in Zhenya’s fridge.

“Go answer it, then, and stop eating my food!” Zhenya snaps, muffled.

“It’s getting thrown out anyway. I’m not your butler,” Max sniffs, but the footsteps fade and he can hear Max shushing Jeffrey downstairs. He returns to push himself back under his bed, to get closer to the charger. His fingers are almost at it when the footsteps return, except there are two sets this time.

“Zhenya, it’s your captain. He looks like someone ran over his dog,” Max says. Zhenya stops reaching for the charger and frowns.

What the fuck is Sid doing at his house? Their summer is wide open for the taking; Zhenya will fly to Russia as soon as humanly possible, and Sid will do whatever it is that Sid usually does before he goes back to Halifax. The memory of their playoff exit is still sharp and keen, pushing at Zhenya’s heart in a way it hasn’t done for a while now. He thinks being three wins into a series and unable to lock down the fourth is a different kind of pain.

“Sid?”

“Hi Geno,” Sidney replies a few moments later. Zhenya isn’t really sure what to do. He backs out from under the bed and bangs his head against the frame, yelping and rubbing his head as he surfaces. Sid’s standing in his doorway, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. That look of quiet devastation hasn’t left his face yet, and Zhenya knows that something similar has been attached to his own since clean-out day.

Max is there too, eating a sandwich and looking bemused.

“Go. Take the dog for a walk,” Zhenya says. Max sighs but claps Sid on the shoulder and leaves, whistling for Jeffrey.

“He take Jeffrey for walk, come sit?” Zhenya eases onto the edge of his bed and pats the duvet next to him. Sid does as he’s told, and Zhenya waits.

Sid’s knuckles flex on the bedspread. Zhenya’s slightly worried. Whatever’s going on has had Sid worked up since before playoffs and carried over to weigh on him, too heavy to be shrugged off and set aside like so much other shit in their lives.

“Can I come to Russia with you?”

Zhenya’s brain fritzes out for a second. “Sorry?” he asks, thinking he’s misheard.

Years of pining can do that to a person -- make you believe that the object of your affections wants something more than they really do. Sid’s gone bright pink and is staring at the floor, so maybe it’s not pining-induced insanity. Sanja will be pleased.

“I, uh. Can I come to Russia with you? For the summer?”

Now Zhenya’s really floundering and Sid’s turning a very uncomfortable shade of red. “What about Halifax and training with, uh... Duchene?”

“I just-- oh, forget it. Sorry I bothered you,” Sid says in a rush, getting up. Zhenya’s on his feet before he realises it, grabbing Sid’s wrist.

“No! I mean, uh, no. I’m confused. Not know why you want Russia now? Been ask for long time,” Zhenya says, as slowly as he can manage. He watches as Sid turns back to face him, his hazel eyes determined.

“I wasn’t ready. I’m ready now.”

 

Max chooses then to walk back in, half-eaten sandwich in one hand, Jeffrey straining against his leash in the other. “Hey, Zhenya, which way do I…” he trails off when he takes in the weird tableau in front of him.

“Sid come to Russia with us, stay for summer,” Zhenya says in English, for Sid’s benefit. Max looks at Sid until Zhenya’s hand drops from his wrist.

“Okay then. I’ll book another seat,” Max says, and disappears.

“It’s that easy?” Sid asks.

“Shit, you need visa…” Zhenya groans. Sid coughs and pulls his passport out his pocket and hands it over. Zhenya opens it and sure enough, there’s a Russian visa with Sidney’s name and details on it. He’s not looking at Zhenya.

“Okay, have visa. All good. How long last for?”

“Six months,” Sid says.

“Okay. We book ticket, send to you. We fly tomorrow.”

Sid nods again, and steps into Zhenya’s space and hugs him tight. Zhenya’s manages to get his arms around Sid to squeeze back, and then Sid’s leaving, saying he’ll be back tomorrow.

Zhenya sits down on his bed when he hears the front door slam and wonders what the fuck just happened.

 

* * *

 

Sid’s at his house at nine on the dot, looking disgustingly awake. The company that's transporting Jeffrey back to Russia have already been to pick him up, Zhenya spending far too long letting his dog slobber on his face, feeling guilty.

“I’ll leave my car here, if that’s okay?” he says to Max, who answers the door. His kids are running around, the baby in Zhenya’s arms while his son and daughter play a complicated game of tag. His wife is at the store grabbing snacks and Zhenya’s already exhausted as he holds the bottle to Natasya’s mouth, cooing at her to finish so he can burp her.

“Sid! Sid!” Elena and Aleksis yell, cheering as they dance around him.

“Hi guys,” Sid smiles at them, pushing his suitcases and gear bag to the side and bending down to let them climb all over him. He’s wearing worn-in jeans, sneakers and a plain grey tee, a fleece draped over his bags for the flight. Sid always gets cold.

“Is it true you’re coming to Russia with us?” Elena asks as Sid hoists her up against his hip, rubbing his fingers through Aleksis’ fine blonde hair.

“Yep. You gonna show me all the cool places to see?” Sid asks, and Elena nods furiously, chattering a mile a minute about the Basilica and the parks and the _food_.

“Is this a good idea?” Max asks as they retreat to the kitchen, Zhenya putting the bottle down and pushing Natasya to his shoulder, rubbing his palm against her back.

“Probably not. I expect to get angry phone calls from at least three people,” Zhenya says. Sidney usually gets spotted quite a lot on his holidays, and Zhenya likes Moscow because he gets to be anonymous for a while at least.

“Too late to regret it now, dumbass,” Max smirks, laughing when his daughter burps right in Zhenya’s face.

If Kate is surprised when she comes back, she doesn’t show it, kissing Sid’s cheeks and demanding Sid take her baby so Zhenya can finish packing. Elena and Aleksis are fighting over who gets to sit next to Sid on the plane.

“Stop it, you two! Zhenya’s sitting next to Sid. If you ask nicely Zhenya might let you sit on his lap for a little bit during the flight,” Kate says, smirking at him. He groans at the thought as he heads upstairs to get his bags.

When he comes back down, suitcases in tow, Max is loading their gear bags into the maxicab and Elena’s tugging at Sid’s shirt, demanding his thoughts on Adventure Time and Barbies.

“Uh, I don’t know about Barbies but I’ve seen Adventure Time. It’s pretty weird,” he says, shifting Natasya to the other hip and frowning. Elena laughs.

“Princess Bubblegum is my favourite!” she says, pointing to her shirt. It’s bright pink with a girl on the front, dressed in a lab coat and shouting something Zhenya can’t make out.

“She is pretty cool, isn’t she?” Sid says, and Elena looks so pleased she might burst. Typical Sidney, charming the hell out of every child he comes across.

“Ready?” Zhenya asks, and Sid startles a little but nods, that determined look coming back over his face. As they’re piling into the cars, Zhenya’s phone beeps with a text from Gennady.

_Russia not happy you didn’t come for Worlds & media want a statement  
What am I telling them?_

Zhenya sets his jaw. It’d been a huge thing for him not to go, but after Sochi he didn’t feel like he could pull on the national team jersey -- hadn’t _wanted_ to. It was a shit show, one that took him a long fucking time to get over, and only because Sid had coaxed him through the worst of it. He wants to spend the entire summer media free, if he can.

_Don’t care._

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and smiles at Sid’s concerned glance. He gets distracted when the kids start fighting over who gets to sit next to Sid in the taxi.

 

The domestic flight to JFK is uneventful. Zhenya’s forced out of his seat by Elena, who wants to watch Adventure Time on his tablet with Sid. He goes to sit next to Max and plays cards until they land. They have a few hours to kill in New York before their connecting flight, so they offer to look after the kids while Max and Kate go shopping. Sid doesn’t seem to mind; Zhenya has Natasya and there’s a play area set up for children on layovers, so they sit at the edge and watch them tearing around.

“This is nice,” Sid says after a while, Zhenya tickling Natasya’s belly and laughing as she squeals.

“Yes. Nice Russia,” he says. Sid smirks.

“We’re still in America, G,” Sid jokes and Zhenya rolls his eyes.

 

The flight to Moscow is much longer -- they’re due to arrive just after ten in the morning, and Zhenya wonders how Sid’s going to deal with the jetlag. He seemed to manage Sochi just fine, so he figures this will be okay.

Sid falls asleep a couple of hours in, and Elena comes over to harass him into watching more cartoons but Zhenya hauls her into his lap and tells her to sleep as well.

“But Zhenya,” she whines, and Zhenya puts his hand over her mouth, pulling a face as she licks his hand.

“Sleep time, we can play with Sid later,” he whispers.

“We need to give him a Russian name,” she replies, but cuddles down against his arm. Zhenya cannot imagine a worse idea.

 

Arriving in Moscow is insane, but Zhenya feels the stress of the season melt away from him as he sinks into the language rushing around him, the early morning sunlight streaming into the airport. Elena and Aleksis are hanging off Sid and guiding him along, while Zhenya shadows Max and Kate. They manage to get their bags without being spotted, and get to the cab rank with little fuss. Elena gets mad when she realises Sid won’t be going with them and they barely head off a tantrum by promising they’ll be around for dinner tomorrow.

“I, uh, I can get a hotel…” Sid starts as they watch Max bundle his family into the cab, and Zhenya rolls his eyes and pushes him towards the next one. He gives his address and settles in, pointing out landmarks to Sid on the way.

“We look, be tourist for little bit.”

“Are we going to Magnitogorsk?” Sid asks once they pull into Zhenya’s apartment complex. They haul their gear out and Sid insists on paying, shoving some rubles at the driver and smiling.

“Yes, few weeks. You don’t… ah, I mean, can come but is little bit boring, not much to do--”

“I want to come,” Sid interrupts, that fierce, determined look back in his face. Zhenya just nods, grabbing his bags and heading towards the main doors.

His apartment is a two-bedroom one he’s had for years, and he’s glad he organised the cleaning service to come and set up the place because the exhaustion of travel is starting to settle in. By the way Sid’s sagging, he feels the same.

“Should go for lunch, keep awake. Make to 8pm,” Zhenya says, once Sid emerges from the guest bedroom.

“Yeah, good idea,” Sid yawns and follows Zhenya downstairs to the carpark.

 

*

 

The first meal Zhenya tries to take Sid for in Moscow is sushi, wandering around the city and pointing out some places for them to try. Sid narrows his eyes when Zhenya happens to ‘spot’ two McDonalds and a sushi train.

“Geno, you’ve made me Russian stuff before and I loved it. I’m here for your food, not stuff I can get back home.”

Zhenya sighs, but sees a Dyadya Vanya’s and tugs at Sid’s elbow, pulling him over.

“Is good food, Russian war time. You want Russian food, is good place,” Zhenya says. Sid takes in the interior as Zhenya gets them a table and some menus.

Sid sticks to pelmeni and Zhenya gets some blinchiki, with both sweet and savoury fillings. He’s ravenous, so they get starters and some beers to nurse while they’re waiting.

“Nobody’s recognised you,” Sid says as they’re halfway through their dinner. Sid’s been making horrible noises while he eats, almost glowing with happiness from the food with sounds to match.

“I’m not Sanja,” Zhenya says, belatedly adding, “Ovechkin” at the blank look on Sid’s face.

“But you’re Geno,” Sid says, still confused. He’s only seen Zhenya interacting with Russians at the Olympics, or when there was footage from taking the Cup home -- that’s not how it is when he comes home. Zhenya’s lucky to be asked for autographs and pictures twice over the whole break, and that’s how he likes it.

“Not big superstar here. Can go long time no pictures.”

Sid looks like he’s about to argue over Zhenya’s superstar status, so Zhenya distracts him by asking to try Sid’s pelmeni.

They finish their meals and Zhenya elbows Sid out of the way to pay, laughing as Sid squawks and elbows him back.

“I’m getting it next time,” he insists, and Zhenya nods endearingly and guides him outside.

 

They wander around the city for a while, Zhenya picking up a tourist map for them to look over when they get back. Sid’s stifling yawns and Zhenya’s feeling pretty exhausted himself. Jetlag is the worst.

“Anything in particular I should do?” Sid asks as they head back to where Zhenya parked. Zhenya shrugs.

“Lots to do, big city. We decide later,” he says.

 

When they get to Zhenya’s apartment, Sid decides he’s going to work out and Zhenya flops down in front of the television and flicks until he finds a home renovation show. When Sid finishes, he wanders into the living room, towelling down his hair and smelling of Zhenya’s body wash.

“Feel good?” Zhenya asks. Sid sits down next to him, flexing his bare toes in the carpet pile.

“Yeah. Who do you train with in the summer? I guess I’ll come with you,” Sid says.

Zhenya shrugs. “Don’t train with anyone, do myself. Have good gym, know what to do. Why?”

“I dunno, maybe just like… having someone there to motivate you?”

“Can motivate by self, no problems. Not weak like you,” Zhenya jokes, laughing as Sid whacks him in the arm and pouts.

“I’m not weak!”

 

* * *

 

“So, what do you usually do in the summer?” Sid asks as Zhenya makes them sandwiches for lunch the next day. Zhenya shrugs, reaching for the chicken.

“Spend a week here, for jetlag. Go home for a week or two, see Mama, Papa, Denya -- Denis. Spend most time in Moscow.”

Sid nods, fiddling with the edges of a catalogue until Zhenya slides the plate in front of him.

“We do tourist things while you here, Sid. See Bolshoi ballet, museums, Kremlin, Red Square… circus, opera, all for you.”

Zhenya watches with a smirk as Sid goes bright pink.

“Oh, Geno, you don’t have to take me anywhere special. I can do that stuff myself,” he says.

“No. I take, Russian guide best. Sometime need… uh, translate.” A lot of places in Moscow are geared towards international tourists, but other places need a local’s knowledge or Russian language to get through.

“Can we go to the museum tomorrow, then?” Sid asks, and Zhenya grins.

“Of course, Sid.”

 

*

 

Dinner at Max’s is exactly how Zhenya expects it to be. The kids are still battling against their jetlag, but Elena and Aleksis jump on Sid the second he crosses the threshold, dragging him off to play hockey outside as Kate kisses Zhenya and gives him Natasya.

“Why do you always give me your child?” Zhenya whines, kissing Nataya’s cheeks and cooing at her.

“Because your biological clock is deafening,” she chirps and whirls off, leaving Max looking like a smug bastard.

“Fuck you,” Zhenya says, walking into the kitchen with the baby in tow.

 

Max grills thick steaks and homemade sausages filled with ground beef and herbs, while Kate makes four different salads -- enough to feed an army.

Sid’s eyes go wide as they keep piling food on the table.

“Are there more people coming?” he whispers at Zhenya, who laughs and scoops a huge mound of potato salad onto Sid’s plate.

“They have leftovers for few days, give us some,” Zhenya whispers back, thanking Elena when she gives him a sausage on the end of her fork.

Sid manages two helpings and has to undo his pants, causing everyone to laugh when he groans at having eaten too much. Elena’s in Sid’s lap and half-comatose from the food as well. Sid hums against her head, rubbing her back.

“So, Sid come here to find Russian baby?” Max asks, causing Sid to start and Zhenya to choke on his beer.

“Max…” he says as threateningly as he can manage. It doesn’t make a difference.

“What?” Sid asks.

“You come here to find girl, have babies, yes? No good women back home?”

Sid’s gone red and Zhenya is going to beat Max as soon as they’re away from the children.

“It’s-- that’s not why--” Sid stammers, shifting uncomfortably. Elena whines in his lap and he stops moving.

“Max is just jealous he can’t run for girls anymore, don’t listen,” Kate says, elbowing her husband as she gets up to move the the food into the kitchen. Sid gives a small smile but he’s stiff, and doesn’t look at Zhenya until they’re leaving, laden down with Tupperwares and a sleepy promise from Elena that they’ll be back.

Sid’s quiet all night, through Zhenya’s explanations of the various Russian soap operas -- even with subtitles it’s difficult to understand. He comes into Zhenya’s room and sits on the bed while Zhenya’s brushing his teeth in his ensuite.

“You okay?” he asks, after he’s rinsed his mouth out and padded back into the room.

“You haven’t asked why I’m here,” Sid says slowly, staring at the floor. Zhenya sighs and sits down next to him.

“I know you tell me when you ready. Why push? Is okay. I like you here,” he says. It’s not everything he wants to say, and he curses himself for not being more diligent with his English lessons when he was younger. He wants to ask Sid why, he wants to tell him that Max is a moron and to ignore him -- Sid can have babies or he can do whatever he wants.

“Thanks, Geno. I… I will tell you. I just need to figure out how,” Sid says, his voice barely above a whisper. Zhenya hitches a shoulder.

“Is okay, I said. Just happy you come to Russia, best place. We have lots of fun this summer.”

Sid’s smile _finally_ comes back, a little dimmer than Zhenya would like but it’s better than nothing.

“Night, Sid,” he says as Sid stands up and walks to the door.

“Night, G,” Sid offers back, smiling as he leaves.

 

* * *

 

“We go out for dinner tonight. What you want?” Zhenya says a few days later, looking up from his laptop at Sid reading a newspaper. Sid thinks for a bit.

“Something Russian?” he tries, and Zhenya rolls his eyes.

“You want drink?”

“I guess. Not a lot,” Sid says slowly.

“We go to Kruzhka. Beer restaurant, cheap food, sport on TV. Relax, good vibe,” Zhenya says. He doesn’t really want to brave the masses in a fast food restaurant, but he’d committed to playing tourist with Sid for at least the next few weeks, and going to Kruzhka is part of that.

“Sounds good, G.” Sid aims a smile at him and turns back to his newspaper, leaving Zhenya feeling a little wrong footed.

They’d spent all day in Red Square, going through the State Museum and Lenin’s tomb, eating blinchiki from a Teremok nearby as they walked around with Sid snapping away furiously with his iPhone. Zhenya had chirped him mercilessly when he first got it, shiny and new and clumsy in Sid’s hands, but he’d taken to it well and most of the texts Zhenya’s received were pictures. It’s nice to have another medium to communicate in.

“Best ever,” Zhenya said smugly, licking the trail of marinade from his hand. Sid had watched him, almost on the edge of saying something, but rolled his eyes and turned away. Zhenya thought the day went went well, even though his throat was sore and his brain hurt from all the explaining in English, but Sid looks like he’s… disappointed? And Zhenya can’t have that. He needs to leave enchanted by Russia, and hopefully by him. All the cheap food they’re eating probably should change after tonight. Only the nice places for Sid after this.

 

*

 

Sid lets Zhenya order, choosing what he wants by poking at pictures on the menu once they’ve found a table and flagged over a waitress.

“I’ll have borscht to start; he’ll take the Greek salad. We’ll have dumplings to share, he’ll have the grilled salmon and I’ll get… hmm, Buffalo wings with blue cheese.”

Her smile falters a little at the sheer amount, but she nods and asks if they want anything to drink.

“Beer?” Zhenya asks in English. Sid nods.

“I’ll take a Tuborg Green light, and he can have a Baltika 7.”

She disappears and Zhenya looks to see Sid peering around the place, as if expecting paparazzi to burst out from a corner.

“No photos here, Sid. I’m not Sanja, can move around more. Not many fans here for me,” he says, the smile faltering as an old guilt creeps back into his bones.

Sochi is still a fresh humiliation for him, his relationship with Russia fractured in complex ways since he left for the NHL, and Sid knows it. Hell, everyone knows it. It’s why the Olympics were meant to be-- they were supposed to be--

“Russia doesn’t know what it’s missing out on,” Sid says, a little more fiercely than Zhenya was expecting. It’s like a repeat of the other day, Sid looking like he’s about to launch into a rant about Zhenya’s superstar status, so he just nudges Sid’s foot with his and smiles. His healing process is coming along, slowly dealing with the choices he’s made and Sid is a big part of that. Sid’s always been a big part of that.

“Thanks.” Zhenya drags a finger through a melting ring of condensation, looking down at the table. He doesn’t want to live through that conversation again about Sochi; through Sid sitting down with him in an empty trainer room while Zhenya talked until his voice couldn’t anymore.

The waitress comes over with their drinks and interrupts the mood, and Sid easily segues into updating him on the end of Taylor’s last season, and how great she is as a goalie.

“Could be Flower back up,” Zhenya says as their starters arrive, watching Sid rearrange his salad to his liking before digging in.

“Of course,” Sid says without hesitation, spearing a piece of tomato and bringing it to his mouth. The restaurant is lowly lit and Zhenya has to squint a little, but he sees Sid’s tongue dart out to lap up some of the juice it left behind. He feels his cheeks flush a little and coughs, tearing his gaze away from Sid’s mouth.

Sharing dumplings with Sid is an experience that ends in far more laughter than he thought, and he snaps some pictures of Sid enjoying himself on his phone, enjoying Sid’s groan when he threatens to put them on Instagram.

“You and that fucking Instagram,” Sid sighs. Zhenya wonders if he could convince Sid to get one, here and now, what with how agreeable Sid’s been about everything so far. Sid’s on his third beer when their mains arrive, his cheeks are flushed and he’s sprawled on the other side of the tiny table, watching a replay of a Dynamo game over Zhenya’s shoulder. Zhenya’s been trying to explain why football is the sport of champions, second only to hockey, but Sid’s stuck on his baseball farce.

“Pirates are shit, Sid,” Zhenya despairs, pulling a face so tragic that Sid bursts into laughter, floating over the background hum and flow.

“They’re doing okay,” Sid says loyally, cutting a piece of his salmon and offering it to Zhenya. In a fit of bravery he leans forward (beer makes him dumb, _fuck_ ) and closes his mouth over the waiting fork, using his tongue and teeth to pull the salmon off before letting go. Sid’s eyes are zeroed in on his mouth. Zhenya leans back in his seat and grins, chewing.

“Nice fish, Sid,” he says and Sid nods and looks back down at his plate.

 

They spill out onto the street after ten, when Sid has finished his beer and Zhenya has declined a fourth, Sid brushing against his side. Zhenya’s phone is ringing and the place is bustling around them, people moving through the capital for shopping or for a night out dancing.

It’s Sanja, which is... unexpected.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Zhenya asks as Sid pulls away to drool over an ice cream vendor. Zhenya follows him, patting Sid on the back and telling him to point to what flavour he wants.

It’s noisy, wherever Sanja is. He can barely hear, as he hands over a few rubles and the guy starts scooping the mint chocolate chip for Sid.

“Oh, I would’ve paid,” Sid starts, trailing off as he watches the ice cream mound grows on his cone.

“Asshole, come to Gogol, I’ve been here a half-hour already. It’s dead tonight,” Sanja whines. Zhenya pulls a face. He usually prefers Fabrique whenever he’s around.

Plus, Gogol has a strict Europeans-only door policy. He looks at Sid, who’s licking his ice cream with the kind of intensity that’s making him hot under the collar, and not only because of the beer.

“I can’t,” he says, “I can’t because I’m with Sidney, and he won’t get in at Gogol.”

Sanja’s whining stops dead, and there’s a pause for so long that Zhenya thinks the call has dropped. He peers at his phone, but nope-- Sanja’s stupid face is there.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Sanja says, deadly slow.

“Yes, and _please_ don’t be weird about this,” Zhenya begs, before Sanja’s off and yelling.

“What the _fuck_ is Sidney Crosby doing in Moscow? And more importantly, why the fuck haven’t you brought him to me, yet? Has he seen Sasha? Has Sasha seen him before me? You fucking bastard! I’m your best friend in all of Russian hockey and I haven’t seen him!”

Sid sidles back up to Zhenya’s side, offering up his ice cream with a smile. Zhenya licks it and wonders how he’s going to explain to Sid that Alexander Ovechkin knows that he’s here, while nobody else in the world does. He decides to rip it off like a plaster as Sanja still squawks in his ear.

“Sid… Ovechkin want us to go clubbing. You okay? We stay for some drinks, dance, then can go.”

Sid shrugs. “I could go for some drinks.”

_Who is this pod person, and what has he done with Zhenya’s captain?_

“Alright, we’ll come. But you have to move to Fabrique, or help me get Sid inside.”

“Sidney Crosby will be allowed in, don’t you worry about that!” Sanja crows as Zhenya hangs up. They’re not really dressed for clubbing -- Sid’s in jeans and sneakers, and Zhenya’s in a plain black shirt and jeans -- but Sanja’s a national treasure. When they show up at Gogol ten minutes later, Sid smelling faintly of mint, the bouncer ushers them in with a nod.

It’s a bland club; the DJ is thumping Avicii and the drinks menu is limited, but Sanja loves the shit out of this place for some bizarre reason. He’s in a roped off area with Sasha Semin and a few guys Zhenya vaguely recognises from parties of Sanja’s.

Sasha and Sanja rise to greet them, thumping Zhenya on the back. Sanja’s got an arm around Sid and is demanding to know _everything_ , and Sid glances back at Zhenya, fear and confusion on his face.

“Two drinks and a dance, then we’re going!” Zhenya calls as Sanja drags Sid to the bar.

“Whatever, you’re boring!” Sanja throws over his shoulder.

 

~

 

Sanja gets Sid hammered off vodka shots, to the point where he and Sid are on the dance floor, sandwiched between terrifyingly beautiful girls with long hair. Zhenya would usually be out there with them, but he’s content to sit back with Sasha and watch the two of them make fools of themselves.

“So, why is Crosby in Russia? You know half of Canada and America are falling over themselves trying to find out where he is,” Sasha says, swirling his drink. Zhenya shrugs.

“He showed up at my house two days before I was due to fly, and asked if he could come. What could I say?”

Sasha snorts. “You could have said no?”

“So, if Sanja showed up at your house and asked to come home with you, you’d tell him no?”

“If Sanja showed up at my house, it wouldn’t be the same,” Sasha waves him off, the ice clinking against the empty tumbler.“If Sidney Crosby showed up at my house and asked if he could come home with me for the summer, I’d think Sidney Crosby was finally growing a pair of balls. You two have been dancing around each other for years. It’s exhausting.”

Zhenya’s at a loss for words, and Sid chooses that moment to come back, flushed and sweaty.

“Russian music is _so awesome!_ ” he yells in Zhenya’s face, arms waving. Sanja staggers into the booth, waving over someone who brings a tray of shots. He takes two and shoves one at Sid, who throws it back without a pause and tugs on Zhenya’s sleeve.

“Dance!” he says. Zhenya has to refuse. He’s drank too much, both of them have, and if he does what Sid wants, he’ll end up doing something they both regret.

“You drink too much, maybe time to go?” he says instead, untangling Sid’s fingers from his t-shirt and putting them in Sid’s lap, patting them. He needs to _behave_.

Sid frowns but nods.

“We’re leaving. Sid will regret this tomorrow and I’ll have to clean up after him,” Zhenya says. Sasha rolls his eyes and Sanja starts making the usual song-and-dance about Zhenya acting like a grandfather, but he follows them out, waiting as Zhenya flags down a taxi.

“Are you taking him to see your parents?” Sanja asks, as Sid fumbles his way into the car.

“I don’t know. I told him I’m going but nothing’s been decided,” Zhenya says.

“Take him to see your mother,” is all Sanja says, before bending over to wave goodbye to Sid.

Predictably, Sid’s all over him, giggling about whatever dumb shit Sanja did in the club while Zhenya nods indulgently. It’s a struggle getting him inside, watered and into sleep clothes, and Sid falls face first onto Zhenya’s bed, laughing like a maniac.

“You crazy,” Zhenya sighs as he sits on the other side, searching in his drawer for a t-shirt. Sid crawls up behind him and plasters himself all along Zhenya’s back, huffing into his ear.

“Did you have fun tonight, Geno?” he drawls, and Zhenya nods.

“Yes. You?”

Sid’s on his back, his arms and legs starfished to take up most of the bed. Zhenya nudges him a little, and he shuffles about half an inch to the right and that’s it.

“I liked having dinner with you. That was nice, I guess,” Sid says, his eyes fluttering shut.

“You guess?” Zhenya asks, teasing. He’d thought Sid had a nice time-- he smiled and laughed and seemed to enjoy the food.

Sid’s asleep though, his breathing steady. He’s still sprawled out all over the bed.

“Sid, need to go to other bed,” Zhenya sighs, poking his side. Sid shakes his head and rolls onto his side, tugging at Zhenya’s hand hard enough that he’s forced to lie down as well. Sid curls up against Zhenya’s side, snuffling until his snores take over.

 

* * *

 

Zhenya’s eating breakfast the next morning when his mama calls to ask when he’s coming. He looks over the table at Sid, who’s yawning and reading through his emails.

“Soon. I just need to figure out a few things here,” Zhenya says. He manages to hang up without too much of an interrogation, and Sid’s watching him while he chews on a piece of toast.

“So uh… you mentioned before that you were going to see your family soon? When do you want to do that?” Sid asks. He looks a little nervous. Zhenya bites his lip.

“Sid, don’t have to come if don’t--”

“I want to. I just don’t want to be a burden or anything.”

“Don’t be dumb. You never trouble for me, okay?” Zhenya says. Sid ducks his head and nods, the smile spreading across his face.

“Okay. We go see family. Mama feed us, we get fat. Sid not complain when ass get too big for tailor pants,” Zhenya chirps, laughing as Sid kicks him under the table.

 

* * *

 

“What is Sidney doing here?” his mama asks when they come over for dinner a few hours after their flight arrives in Magnitogorsk. Sid fumbles his way through greetings, letting Zhenya’s parents embrace him with a smile.

He insisted on bringing flowers and a bottle of wine, even though Zhenya told him a hundred times it wasn’t necessary -- Denis is a worse son than him, so they’re used to it.

Denis is there with his girlfriend, some blonde woman Zhenya’s never met before, but she’s fluent in English and is an associate professor of history at their local university, so Sid talks her ear off on Russian history for the entire night. Zhenya’s glad Sid’s got someone to be comfortable with, but it leaves _him_ open for interrogating.

“I don’t know,” Zhenya says, truthfully. Sid’s been strange, ever since the end of the post season, and when he showed up at Zhenya’s house, it got stranger. But he’s taken to everything with the kind of casual acceptance that Zhenya’s both used to and disturbed by.

“He hasn’t said?” she asks, piling food onto a plate and pushing it at Zhenya.

“No. I don’t want to push him. Something’s obviously wrong, if he wanted to come here.”

His mother raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean it in an offensive way! I meant, Sid has his summer routines and he doesn’t usually break them this much. I’ll ask, eventually. When the time is right.”

Sid gets tipsy off the good stuff that his dad brings out, probably under the ruse of trying to find out his motivations. Zhenya isn’t exactly sober himself, so he makes the executive decision that they’ll stay the night, fending off his parents questions and mistranslating everything to Sid. Denis spends most of his time rolling his eyes and calling his little brother an idiot, but Zhenya is obviously the better son so he doesn’t mind.

He drags Sid upstairs to his old bedroom and manages to get him into the bed, tugging at his jeans while Sid giggles and fights him.

“Geno,” he sighs out, as Zhenya’s working on getting Sid’s t-shirt over his head. The curl of warmth in his gut at seeing Sid relaxed and happy is something difficult to ignore.

“What?”

Sid reaches out a hand and tangles it in the hem of his shirt.

“Stay here? The couch is bad for your back,” he says. Zhenya blinks. The bed is a double, but they’re both big guys and it’d be a tight squeeze. Sid had gone back to his room the night after their club excursion with Sanja, but Zhenya’s finding it hard to forget how Sid had felt against his side, warm and slightly sweaty but so fucking perfect. It’s starred in his fantasies every time he’s jerked off since, which is so embarrassing he can barely acknowledge it.

“Uh…” he says, and Sid tugs again and again at his shirt until Zhenya’s knee is braced on the bed.

“Okay,” he says, giving in far too quickly and hating himself for it. He undoes his belt, letting his jeans fall to the ground, his shirt following. Sid rolls to the right and lets Zhenya climb in, settling the duvet around them before he pushes back into Zhenya’s space.

“What…” Zhenya starts, but Sid grabs Zhenya’s arm and wraps it low around his waist, resting his hand on top of Zhenya’s.

“Just… okay?” he says, and Zhenya swallows, hard. The click is audible in the quiet night air but he nods and moves closer, his chest pressing against Sid’s back. He’ll get too warm in a while, Sid radiating heat brilliantly, but for now he’s selfish enough to have this.

 

*

 

The next morning, he wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in, Sid curled up in his arms and snoring. He extracts himself and pads downstairs, shrugging on a t-shirt from his bag, and sits at the table, long legs crossed underneath him while his mama makes a pot of tea and fusses over what to have for breakfast.

“Sausage, eggs, toast,” Zhenya says. He’s almost 28, and it’s pathetically old to be doing this, but his mama just tuts and pulls things from the fridge to fry. It’s the summer, he can be as pathetic as he wants.

Sid joins them a half-hour later, when his mama is serving everything onto plates. Denis staggers from his room, his father still out walking Jeffrey.

“Sleep okay?” Zhenya asks, his voice raspy from all the yelling last night. Sid’s cheeks are pink and he’s still half asleep, but the easy smile he gives Zhenya makes him wonder how much Sid remembers.

“Slept great,” he says. He thanks Zhenya’s mama and tells her the food smells great. She fusses and drops a kiss on his head, squeezing Zhenya’s shoulder as she walks by. Her smirk says much more than Zhenya’s willing to deal with at this time of the morning.

 

~

 

Zhenya has an apartment in Magnitogorsk now that he’s too old to keep taking up room in his parents’ spare bedroom, so he drives Sid there once they’ve woken up enough and struggled through breakfast. His mama insists on them returning for lunch, and dinner -- “God knows you are a horrible cook, Zhenechka!” -- and Zhenya is still cowed enough by his mother that he agrees.

“I don’t think I can handle food today,” Sid sighs as he crawls onto Zhenya’s couch, looking pathetic.

“Told you not to drink with Papa, not listen,” Zhenya says, even though he’s feeling just as rough and did exactly the same thing as Sid. He never learns.

“Your dad is very convincing,” Sid says, his voice muffled by the pillow. Zhenya rolls his eyes.

“He not speak English, how is convincing?” he asks. Sid doesn’t move.

“Don’t sleep,” Zhenya grunts, poking at Sid’s ass with his toe, but Sid just mumbles something and turns over.

“Sid worst guest,” he huffs, flopping down next to Sid and flicking on the television. He sinks down, moving around until he’s curled up behind Sid and falls asleep within minutes, his nose pressed against the back of Sid’s neck.

 

* * *

 

Mama decides to make zakushi, and insists on Sid’s assistance. Zhenya smells a trap.

“Mama, Sidney can’t cook that well--” Zhenya protests as she holds Sid’s hand and tugs him into her kitchen. Denis is leaning on a nearby bench, watching with delight.

“I know, that’s why I’m going to teach him. He needs to know how to make you good Russian food when you two go back to Pittsburgh.”

Sid goes pale as Zhenya explains.

“I can’t cook though,” Sid says.

“I know, but Mama want teach you. Make zakushi. Lots of small dish, like… yum cha?” Zhenya says, straining to think of a comparison. Max had taken him for yum cha a lot before he left, decimating trays of tiny plates and laughing over dumb shit. It sends an old ache through him, and he pushes it aside to nudge Sid closer to his mama.

“Go on. She show you what she want, I stay to translate,” Zhenya says, moving to the fridge to grab a bottle of water and stand next to Denis.

“Mama’s making pirozhki, deviled eggs and sandwiches… I think your boyfriend will be fine.”

“I want Olivier salad,” Zhenya says, and Mama waves a hand but pulls more out the fridge.

“Tell him to boil this carton of eggs,” Mama says. Zhenya relays the message and stands back to watch Sid move around her, letting her guide him with soft hands and a smile.

“He told you yet?” Denis asks. Zhenya shakes his head.

“Mama, can you make pirog for dinner? I feel like pie,” Denis says.

“Make it yourself,” Mama fires back, nudging Sid towards the chopping board and the loaves of bread.

“I can’t make it properly, the pie crust is always too soggy,” Denis says. Zhenya snorts.

Sid starts buttering the bread as the eggs boil and places some of the cold cuts on them, dithering over the other toppings. Mama picks up a piece of turkey and holds it to Sid’s face.

“Eat,” she says -- one of the few English words she knows. Sid opens his mouth and lets her pop it inside. Zhenya laughs and Sid goes bright red.

“Big mistake, Mama know she feed you-- she _always_ feed you,” Zhenya says.

“I don’t mind,” Sid says once he’s swallowed, adding lettuce and cucumber.

“You mind when eating time,” Zhenya says darkly, knowing exactly what’s coming. His mama will fill Sidney up on little ‘testers’ and then use her guilt to force him to eat until he bursts. Zhenya plans on being outside the firing range.

 

*

 

Predictably, by the time Sid finishes helping their mother with lunch, he’s almost full.

“Tell your mom she’s filled me up, I can’t eat a plate of my own,” Sid sighs uncomfortably, putting down the Olivier salad on the table and taking the cutlery off Zhenya’s mama.

“Mama, I told you not to feed him too much, he’s too full now. He doesn’t want a plate,” Zhenya scolds.

“Maybe you should share with him, then?” Denis teases from the doorway, his hands full with a plate of sandwiches. Sid watches them go back and forth, nervous, until Zhenya’s mama puts her hands on his cheeks and pinches.

“Okay, Zhenya help,” she says and bustles off to get the rest. Sid looks at him.

“Can share plate,” Zhenya says simply.

 

They settle down for their meal, opening the back doors to look out over the yard and let a breeze come through. Zhenya’s in shorts and the lightest cotton t-shirt he owns, but it’s still sweltering and their air conditioning unit isn’t being repaired until tomorrow.

Sid’s similarly dressed in khaki shorts and a white tee, his hair fluffy from the shower. Zhenya is seized with the urge to kiss him as he sits down and their knees knock; the embarrassed little smile that comes with it as Sid doesn’t move his leg away.

Their table isn’t huge to begin with, and with four full-grown men, two of whom are hockey players, it proves quite a squeeze. Sid’s all but completely pressed against him as Denis asks him something about Pittsburgh, and Sid grabs a sandwich from Zhenya’s plate and turns back to talk to him.

Zhenya starts nudging things towards Sid’s side that he thinks he’ll like, only taking a few bites of his sandwich while he focuses. Sid’s not fussed about eggs, so Zhenya pushes pirozkhi and the sandwiches that are egg-free to the side. Sid reaches for his fork and spears some of the salad when he’s done with them, his tongue darting out to catch some mayonnaise that leaks down the side of his lips. Zhenya uses the pretense of listening to their conversation to stare at Sid eating, his hand propping up his face. He drifts for a while, until Mama jabs him with the end of her fork.

“What are you doing?” she demands, a sweet smile on her face. His father snorts into his sandwich.

“I’m feeding Sid, Mama. It’s polite,” Zhenya grunts, knowing his mother is going to whack him. She doesn’t whack him -- physically, anyway.

“But why aren’t _you_ eating much, Zhenechka? There’s enough for him to serve himself,” she says.

Zhenya flushes. “He doesn’t know the best food, I’m just helping,” he says. Denis coughs from the other side, distracting Sid with another inane comment and listening to their mother berate Zhenya for his eating.

“Oh, is there something on here that’s below your standards, Evgeni?” she says, and Zhenya winces. God, this is turning into a farce.

“No! Mama, come on. I just… I know what he likes. It’s quicker,” Zhenya fumbles, and his mother laughs.

“Oh, _do_ you now?”

Zhenya really wants to escape the interrogation, so he shoves a forkful of salad into his mouth and reaches for some pirozhki. Sid’s stopped talking, busy poking around Zhenya’s plate for the cold cuts. Denis laughs into his own plate, while Papa busies himself behind the newspaper and Mama looks a mixture of pure evil and satisfied.

“What’s going on?” Sid asks, reaching to spear at an egg, sighing as he goes. Zhenya snorts but pushes it closer to him, and Sid takes his lead and picks it up with his fingers, biting it in half. His tongue swipes over his lips to clean up the remains, and Zhenya shifts in his seat, their thighs almost pressed tightly together at this point.

Everything’s warm and slightly slick from sweat, and it’s feeling like a fucking porno.

“Mama ask how long we stay, mad we not here for long,” Zhenya lies. Sid bites his lip.

“We could stay longer, if you wanted to? You hardly get to see your family,” he says. Zhenya shrugs.

“Might come back later, don’t know. More to do in Moscow, boring here.”

Sid shakes his head, and thanks Zhenya’s mama in shaky Russian as she piles more caviar onto their plate and pushes a cracker at him.

“Mama, for God’s sake,” Zhenya groans, but Sid smiles and enjoys the caviar far more than any human being should.

 

~

 

They get home late that night. Dinner is much of the same, with Mama dragging Sid into the kitchen, but this time she bars anyone else from entering. While the pie is baking, Denis insists that Sid be driven around the neighbourhood so they can point out old haunts to him -- old rinks, their old school, where they used to hang out. Zhenya is embarrassed; their city is crumbling and Sid won’t understand why they chose to play in alleyways or on bus shelters, but Sid leans out the window excitedly as Denis points things out.

“Your town has character, Geno. It reminds me of Pittsburgh, a bit,” Sid says when they’re heading back to Zhenya’s apartment.

He finds himself back in Zhenya’s room, flopped on the bed while Zhenya changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth. He’s been yawning for ages, so he knows Sid won’t be around for long.

“I had a great time today. Your family are so nice, and your mom fed me so much. I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a week,” he says, his voice carrying enough to make it to the bathroom.

“Mama always feed so much,” Zhenya grumbles, but his stomach is singing from the good food and he’s _happy_ Sid enjoyed his time here. He wants him to feel comfortable around his family, no matter how much of an event it is.

When he heads back into his room, Sid’s asleep, his breathing even. Zhenya groans.

“Sid,” he hisses, poking Sid’s side. He hasn’t sprawled all over the bed this time, mostly contained to one side, so Zhenya _could_ just slide under the covers. He pokes Sid a few times, but Sid just bats at his hand and curls up a little. Zhenya sighs, decides he’s too old for this shit and climbs in.

“Sid like furnace,” he grumbles a few minutes later, pulling his t-shirt off and tossing it to the other side of the room. He wakes up a half-hour later to Sid pressed up against his back, his nose digging into Zhenya’s shoulder and an arm thrown over his middle. It feels so nice, and Zhenya’s so tired and so confused. He just falls back asleep.

 

* * *

 

They spend a few weeks in Zhenya’s hometown, Sid being shown around and Zhenya’s mama overfeeding them, until they head back to Moscow and resume their tourist lifestyle. Sid still hasn’t told him what’s going on, and the casual touches and intimacy that’re creeping into their friendship is driving Zhenya mad.

Sid’s fallen asleep in his bed every night since they got back from Magnitogorsk, not even bothering to find an excuse for it -- it just _happens_ and Zhenya is such a fucking easy mark.

Sanja rings in the afternoon while Zhenya’s lying on the floor and Sid takes up the couch, both sore from their workout. They were on the ice today, and Max rode them both hard enough that they're sore, but happily so.

“Sanja want to have dinner with us,” Zhenya says, looking at Sid. He’s sprawled out on the couch, pleasantly loose, and nods easily.

“Sure. Steak,” Sid says, and turns back to the children’s show he’s watching. He’s learning how to count today, already having mastered basic greetings and a few colours. It’s endearing and reminds Zhenya of how he started with English, spending hours watching children’s shows with Seryozha’s little ones.

“Sid wants steak,” is all Zhenya says.

“Sid? _Oh_ , whatever is your captain doing back in Moscow?” Sanja asks wickedly, and Zhenya groans. He hadn’t told anyone where Sid was besides Sanja -- not Barry, who called up a few weeks ago demanding to know if he’d kidnapped Sidney, nor Brisson, who called almost immediately after that. Not even Nealer, who had received a phone call from Duchene wondering where Sid was. It’s been harder than he imagined, being Sid’s secret keeper.

“You can’t tell anyone, I’ve already told you this,” Zhenya snaps.

“Out of all the things I thought would happen, Sidney Crosby coming to Moscow for the whole offseason was the _last_ ,” Sanja says, completely ignoring Zhenya.

“I’m serious. I don’t know why he’s still here, but he is. Don’t be weird and don’t make it awkward.”

 

Of course, Sanja makes it both weird and awkward. He sets a reservation at a romantic Italian place, and the table is tiny-- they’re squeezed together and Sanja practically smothers Sid when they greet before the meal.

“Sidney Crosby, back again in best city of world! Cannot believe,” Sanja crows. Sid rolls his eyes but shakes his hand, smiling at Masha and asking how her tennis is going.

“Look, our wives get along so well,” Sanja coos in his ear on the way to the table. The elbow he gets in the stomach is well-deserved. Sanja proceeds to behave himself for most of the dinner, allowing Sid and Zhenya to talk about their summer so far -- going to Magnitogorsk, seeing the sights, their training regime -- before he starts up with his particular brand of bullshit.

“I have call from buddies all summer, say Sidney Crosby _disappear_. Poof! Nobody know where is, very mysterious. You spy now, Sidney?” Sanja asks, swirling his wine around. Masha rolls her eyes and Sid shifts in his seat.

“No, not a spy. Just wanted a vacation,” he says.

“Staying for birthday in Russia?” Sanja asks, and Sid shakes his head. Zhenya can just see it now -- Sanja throwing him a fucking terrifically tacky party at some club, and Zhenya being forced to hoist Sid’s ridiculous ass through a bathroom window so they can escape. God, as much as he’d enjoy the view and the excuse to touch, it wouldn’t be worth the aggravation.

“I, ah. I probably should get back to Canada at some point and see my sister and my family.” He avoids Zhenya’s eyes when he says this, and Zhenya frowns down at his pasta.

“So, Sidney, has Zhenya taken you to the Basilica yet?” Masha asks, and Sid latches on gratefully, pulling out his phone to show Masha the pictures. Sid had been enamoured with the architecture and the history, and while Zhenya’s vocabulary had been stretched to the absolute limit explaining everything, it was probably one of the better days they had.

He knew Sid wouldn’t spend the whole summer with him -- they play together all year, and whatever he’s running from will eventually get solved. Zhenya knows it’s for the best if Sid goes back to Canada, knows he can’t hide here forever, no matter how much Zhenya wants him to.

Their time together has been worth it, even if it has reminded Zhenya exactly how dumb he is when it comes to his captain.

 

* * *

 

Zhenya reads about the news before Sanja and Gennady call him. Sid’s at the local pool swimming laps -- Zhenya’s supposed to be doing a legs day, but he’s feeling lazy so he’ll do it tomorrow -- when a news alert comes up on his phone that the KHL are opening an expansion club in Sochi. Within the hour, Gennady calls and tells him the ice hockey federation want him and Sanja to go to Sochi for the unveiling of the new team.

“Why me? I’m a disappointment, remember?” Zhenya snaps.

“Don’t be so dramatic Zhenya,” Gennady sighs. It’s an old argument, and one that Zhenya is in no mood to rehash.

“I’m serious, make Sanja go. Putin calls him every week, not me.”

“Sanja _is_ going, but they want you. God knows why, your stock is worth shit in Russia. Just pack your gear and be in Sochi by tomorrow evening. You’re staying at the Radisson.”

Gennady hangs up and Zhenya has to take several cleansing breaths before the urge to hurl his phone at the wall subsides.

 

He’s halfway through packing an overnight bag and clicking through Aeroflot flights when Sid comes back from his trip to the store, having declared Zhenya’s supplies not good enough for their meal tonight. Shit.

“What’s going on?” Sid asks, stopping dead in Zhenya’s doorway. There’s plastic bags in his hand, filled with fresh fruit and vegetables.

“Uhm,” Zhenya says. Sid just looks at him, his face blank.

“Have to go Sochi for few days, new KHL team there. Russia want me and Sanja to… be there.”

“Oh,” Sid says, twitching a little. He turns around and walks out without another word. Zhenya groans.

He follows Sid to the kitchen and watches him put things away with more force than usual.

“Sid, didn’t ask because… thought not want people find you here? Will be lots of press, ask questions about you. Be hard to--”

“I know,” Sid snaps and slams the fridge door shut. Zhenya flinches.

The only word Zhenya can think of to describe the look on Sid’s face is _hurt_ , and why would Sid be hurt at Zhenya trying to protect him from the media? It’s dumb. His chest hurts, regardless.

“You should come. Hide in hotel, swim in pool, suntan. Have good time, Sochi nice place. Not for Olympics, but…” Zhenya trails off. He can’t believe he’s even saying this shit.

Sochi is the place of his nightmares, and Russia winning Worlds without him didn’t help at all. It’s the last place he wants to be, and he knows this is the ice hockey federation’s way of saying _fuck you, you useless piece of shit, come back here and remember how you failed an entire country._

Sid shifts but nods, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Sanja can help hide Sid,” Zhenya tosses in as he grabs his laptop from his bed and starts to enter in Sid’s details as a third traveller.

 

Sanja, of course, is delighted when he hears Sid is coming.

“Will be like James Bond, hide Sid from press!” Sanja hoots as they drive to the airport, Sid wedged in between Zhenya and their bags, Sanja leering at them from the front of the taxi.

“Turn around, you dumb fuck, before you get us all killed or arrested,” Zhenya snaps and Sanja rolls his eyes but does as he’s told.

Sid’s looking a little nervous as they make their way through the terminal, but nobody notices them -- a few kids spot Sanja but Zhenya hustles Sid away before they notice him -- and they camp in the business class lounge until they board.

When they touch down in Sochi, there’s a chauffeur waiting to take them straight to the hotel, free to do what they want for the day, with the unveiling the next morning.

“I call Masha,” Sanja says as he disappears into his room.

Zhenya opens his and Sid’s, and to his dismay there’s only a queen-sized bed.

“Sorry Sid, must have wrong…” Zhenya stammers, but Sid shrugs and puts his bag by the foot of the bed, on the side he’s taken the few times they’ve shared.

“It’s alright, G. I don’t mind sharing,” Sid says with a smile, bending over to reach into his bag for swim trunks.

“C’mon, let’s go to the pool for a swim while Alex calls his girlfriend,” Sid says, and heads into the bathroom to change. Zhenya nods and strips quickly, grabbing one of the towels and some lotion. Sid comes out with a t-shirt on, and Zhenya rolls his eyes but leads them downstairs.

This turns out to be a grievous mistake, as Sid strips off his shirt and dives in the pool, leaving Zhenya to clutch at his towel and watch Sid’s back muscles ripple through the water. He sits down heavily on a deck chair, next to the one Sid dumped all his gear on, and prays he won’t get an awkward boner. The pool is mostly empty. There’s an older couple at the other side and a few women chatting together by the bar in the corner. Sid sluices through the water like he skates across the ice -- purposeful and dedicated.

Zhenya’s in the middle of coating himself in lotion when he looks up to see Sid hauling himself out of the pool. It’s like every fantasy Zhenya’s ever had -- water running rivulets down Sid’s body, his hair slicked back and his lips obscene. Sid smiles and wanders over to stand in front of Zhenya, dripping on his bare feet. The cut of his hips and his abs, heaving from the exertion, just add to Zhenya’s predicament. He’s glad he kept the towel on his lap.

“Come swim,” Sid says, offering a hand. Zhenya’s mouth is like a desert.

 

~

 

Dinner that night is at the restaurant in the hotel, all three of them dressed in shorts and open shirts, their stomachs swelling from the good food and beer. Zhenya can’t stop staring at Sid’s golden skin, and the way Sanja keeps chuckling into his plate makes him think he’s not exactly being covert about it. There is only so much willpower one man can be expected to have, and Sid is pushing him to the fucking brink.

“Are you coming to ceremony tomorrow?” Sanja asks as they’re waiting on dessert. Sid looks at Zhenya, then shakes his head.

“No. I want to avoid cameras,” Sid says softly, and Sanja nods seriously.

“Won’t be long, few hours tops. Come back to hotel, enjoy more break. Make Zhenya see city, maybe he forget Olympics.”

Zhenya rolls his eyes and smiles at the waitress as she deposits their fruit parfaits on the table, smiling at Sid to encourage him to start eating. It’s almost as obscene as their pool adventure.

 

When they get back to the room, Sid’s yawning and listing against him.

“I should feel guilty for doing nothing, but… this vacation has probably be one of the most restful I’ve ever had. I feel great,” Sid sighs as Zhenya opens the door, fumbling a little. He manages a smile, and nods.

“Is good, Sid feel good. I feel good too,” he says, and finds he isn’t lying. Although his stress levels have gone up somewhat having Sid constantly around, he doesn’t miss being bored and filling his nights with pointless partying and appearances. He likes being at home with good company -- enjoys showing Sid their capital during the day and teaching Sid Russian and introducing him to new food. It’s probably been one of his favourite breaks as well.

The air conditioner is set low so the room is cold, and Sid keeps on a t-shirt and boxers when he climbs into bed as Zhenya’s brushing his teeth.

“I leave at nine, try not to wake you,” he says as he climbs into the other side, leaving as much space as he can between them. Not that it matters -- whenever they fall asleep together, which is happening in increasing frequency, they migrate together in the night. Zhenya keeps waking up with a mouthful of hair and a lapful of Sid’s ass.

“That’s okay, I might get up early for a workout,” Sid yawns, trying and failing to stifle it. Zhenya snorts. Sid’s been sleeping later and later, finally relaxing into his holiday.

 

*

 

Zhenya wakes up to Sid’s ass pressed snugly against his crotch, snoring softly in the still morning air, as expected. He manages to extract himself and has a quick shower, pulling on his suit and forgoing a tie.

By the time he meets Sanja in the corridor, he’s yawning into his hand and cursing the Russian federation for inviting him. It’s going to be a shitshow with horribly pointed questions from the media and mentions of the Worlds team every chance they get -- why could they achieve what the Olympics team couldn’t? Why did Zhenya refuse to go? He’d rather get a puck to the face.

“I really don’t want to do this,” he says to Sanja as they get into the lift and head downstairs. Sanja rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Zhenya. You should know that by now.”

It doesn’t make it suck any less, Zhenya grumps to himself as they head to the awaiting car.

 

As expected, they arrive to a media contingent, Commissioner Medvedev of the KHL and President Tretiak of the ice hockey federation. The head coach of the new team, Butsayev, looks starstruck from all the media attention. He’s had a prolific career, playing all over the NHL and Europe, but this kind of attention and coaching an expansion team -- it’s on another level entirely.

“Ah, our superstars have arrived!” Medvedev says loudly, clapping his hands and embracing them both. Zhenya greets him as briefly as he can, and starts looking for a food tent. He needs coffee -- or vodka -- if he intends on getting through this alive.

His phone beeps as he’s waiting for his coffee, and he pulls it out to see a text from Sid.

_you didn’t wake me up and say goodbye :(_

Zhenya blinks at his phone. That’s a thing they do, now?

_sorry, was l8. we go for lunch?)))))_

“What’s so confusing?” Sanja asks from over his shoulder, plucking his phone out his hands before Zhenya can stop him.

“ _Oh_. Well, you do need to keep the wife happy,” Sanja says, handing the phone back and winking. Zhenya gives a long suffering sigh.

“It’s not like that,” he says, sipping from his cup and sighing happily. He prefers tea but he always needs a kick this early in the morning.

“He came to Russia -- and _stayed_ \-- for you. It wasn’t out of some misguided sense of loyalty or wanting to make sure you didn’t drown yourself in the off season,” Sanja says.

“It’s not fair to say that,” is all Zhenya says, before President Tretiak finds them and drags them to the stage.

As club unveilings go, the proceedings are pretty standard. All they do is stand to the side and listen to everyone say bullshit about the expansion teams. They all clap politely when the speeches are done, before being handed a huge pair of scissors to cut a ceremonial ribbon. They mingle afterwards and the media start asking about Worlds -- Zhenya shuts up quickly, and Sanja is forced to take over, discussing his injury and how proud they both are of the Russian team for winning the competition, even though they couldn’t be part of it.

“You really need to stop doing that,” Sanja snaps as they get back into the car to take them to the hotel. Sid texted Zhenya again and said he wants to try some Uzbek restaurant he found in the city, and then go to a few of the museums.

“Doing what?” Zhenya asks, distracted in replying. It’s hard to type in English while he’s talking in Russian -- his brain is no good at multitasking like that.

“Going mute when you don’t want to answer things.”

“I don’t have the A, why should I answer? Especially when they’re being dicks.”

“No wonder they all say shit about you, Zhenya. You never defend yourself,” Sanja snaps, and Zhenya really, _really_ doesn’t want to start.

“Look, what can I say that will ever excuse what I did? Nothing. So why bother? No matter how many medals I win, no matter how many times I drop everything and come to play, I will _always_ be that traitor who abandoned Magnitka and fled to America. So I just -- I don’t bother anymore. You understand the pressure, but you don’t know what it’s like to be me. You don’t know what I’ve been put under.”

Sanja falls silent, and Zhenya fucks around on his phone until they arrive at the hotel. The weather is humid and oppressive, and he just wants to change into shorts and follow Sid around the city.

Sid’s in the shower when he gets into their room, and he calls out a greeting as he strips out his suit and burrows around his bag for shorts. He’s pulling on a tee when Sid emerges, face flushed and hair wet around his face.

“How did it go?” he asks, and Zhenya shrugs.

“Shit. Boring. We go eat?”

Sid frowns but nods, quickly grabbing his things and a map, tucking it into his pocket and following Zhenya out.

They eat at a little place called Lighthouse, both ordering the rice pilaf and sticking to water. Fans on the ceiling push the warm air around and Zhenya feels the tension melt away from the morning as Sid asks Zhenya for translations and which museum would be the best to visit. They only have today and tomorrow, then they’re back to Moscow.

Sid decides that they need to see the history museum first, and bows to Zhenya’s pleading that they go to one of the oceanariums afterwards so he can feed some penguins. He _loves_ penguins -- loves all animals, actually, but there’s something so cool about penguins.

He’ll never get tired of this side of Sid, he thinks as they’re walking around the museum, Sid chattering a million miles away, his arms full of pamphlets and books -- all in Russian that he’s determined he’ll get translated when they’re back in Pittsburgh. He’s so enchanted by it all, and it’s so good that he’s got something besides hockey in his life; something he can focus on with as much intensity and talent as he does with his job.

“You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet,” Sid asks as they stop by a huge picture of Stalin speaking on a podium.

“Yes, am okay. Just think, take in history. Is fun,” Zhenya says. He’s not lying -- not entirely. He’s taking in Sid.

Sid just smiles and steps close enough to bump their shoulders together before he’s off again, dragging Zhenya to another wing because he just _has_ to see the exhibits about the KGB.

 

*

 

It’s at the aquarium where they’re finally noticed. Sid’s been in Russia almost a month now, and it’s amazing they’ve gone this long without someone spotting them.

Zhenya’s just finished feeding the penguins, Sid safely on the other side of the glass (some trauma from feeding them in his rookie year -- he refuses to talk about it) and taking a ridiculous amount of pictures on Zhenya’s phone for him. They’re staring at the sharks, when someone clears their throat. Zhenya looks over his shoulder, and there’s three young guys standing there, looking dumbstruck.

“Uh… are you Evgeni Malkin?” the one on the far left asks. Zhenya sighs.

“Yes,” he says and Sid turns.

“What’s going on?” he asks and Zhenya shrugs. The guys boggle further when they notice who Sid is.

“Holy shit, that’s Sidney Crosby!” the one in the middle says, fumbling his phone. “Can we get a picture with you two?”

Zhenya’s got two options here. Either he says no, alienating what has to be a shrinking pool of his fans in Russia -- or he says yes and risks the pictures getting onto the internet and the world finding out that Sid’s in Russia.

Sid answers for him.

“Yes, but no internet,” he says in broken Russian. The guys gape more, and all nod.

“When you learn that Russian?” Zhenya asks, but Sid’s pushing against his side as the guys grab a woman passing by and thrust their phones at her. It’s over pretty quickly, and Sid just shrugs when Zhenya questions him about it again as they’re leaving.

“I have a phrasebook. _Can I take a photo with you?_ is one of them. It was pretty easy to figure out what they wanted, anyway.”

“Sid learn Russian for me?” Zhenya jokes, and Sid goes bright red and mutters something about not wanting to depend on him for everything.

It sticks with him, though, Sid’s pink-cheeked embarrassment at the question.

 

~

 

Sid’s reading a novel by the pool early the next morning when he asks about the ceremony. Zhenya’s answering emails on his phone, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and squinting at the screen. The pool is empty bar them and they don’t fly back to Moscow until the evening.

“They asked you about Worlds, didn’t they?”

Zhenya sighs and drops his phone in his lap. He feels so tired of the whole issue now, alternating between being crushed by it, and having it nag on the edges of his conscious. He knows he’ll never shift the burden completely.

“Yes.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Sid asks, cautious. Zhenya’s so sick of emptying himself to Sid, burdening Sid with everything but he just-- Sid’s face is so open and trusting, and Zhenya can’t help himself.

“Same as before when we talk. Media ask why I’m not go to Worlds, same problem as always. Never enough, I’m never do enough.” His shoulders sag and Sid shifts closer until their knees are touching.

“You know that’s not true, G. You do enough-- _more_ than enough. You always have. I know you don’t believe me sometimes, but you do.”

Zhenya shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his shorts. Sid reaches out and puts his hand on Zhenya’s back, hesitant, but moves it up and squeezes his shoulder.

“I promise I would tell you if you were slacking off. Just like you’d tell me, eh?” He lets go of Zhenya’s shoulder and he misses the feel, the weight of Sid’s hand.

“Yes. Sid lazy,” he chirps half-heartedly, but Sid laughs and he feels the corners of his mouth tug up in response. There’s really nothing else to do but smile at Sid.

“C’mon, we go for sushi?” Zhenya says after a beat, and Sid nods and hauls himself up, offering Zhenya a hand.

“Your turn to pay tonight,” Sid says with a smirk, and Zhenya rolls his eyes and hipchecks him out the way.

 

* * *

 

Max calls him early one morning, waking both Zhenya and Sid from their sleep.

They’ve been back in Moscow for a while now and taking it easy, switching up their training regime and wandering around the city center when they can be bothered. They went to St. Petersburg for a week ( _so many museums_ ; he’d needed to buy a Russian-to-English dictionary just to keep up with translating), and he’s planning on taking Sid to Vladivostok or Yekaterinburg next. He needs to ask Sid where he wants to go to, and make a battle plan -- be ready to suffer through more museums, thats for sure.

“Zhenya, Dynamo and Zenit are holding a pre-season game tomorrow, I have tickets but my brother and his wife dropped out. Can you and Sidney come?” Max asks, sounding far too awake for this time of the morning.

Zhenya blinks, rubbing his hand over his face. Sid’s opinions on football aren’t exactly positive -- the only sports he really cares about are hockey and baseball -- but he’s been agreeable to basically everything else, so he nudges Sid’s bare arm and waits.

“Morning,” Sid croaks, coughing a little. Zhenya smiles. They’ve been sharing a bed for a while now and Sid had just crawled into Zhenya’s bed when they got back and hasn’t moved since. It’s playing into every fantasy Zhenya has, and he’s so weak. _So weak._

“Morning, Sid. You want see football tomorrow? Dynamo and Zenit play, Max has tickets,” Zhenya says softly. Sid stretches, the muscles in his bare chest arching luxuriously. Zhenya’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight -- doesn’t ever want to.

“Sure, Geno. I’ve never seen a live soccer game before,” he says, before rolling over and settling back down, snuffling into the pillow. Zhenya counts to ten and takes Max off hold.

“He says okay. We’ll come to your house first,” Zhenya says.

“You didn’t put me on hold. He’s sleeping in your bed, now?” Max asks.

Zhenya hangs up instead. A text comes through seconds later, and Zhenya’s nothing if not up for some healthy self-punishment before eight in the morning.

 _Dumbass._  
You’re going to get yourself arrested or heartbroken  
& I’m not sure what’s worse

The blue message bubbles mock him until he tosses his phone onto the bedside and sinks back down into sleep, Sid’s breathing steady next to him.

 

*

 

They get to Max’s before lunch; kick off is at two so they’ve decided to eat there. Max has a massive barbecue going out the back, the kids running around while Kate bounces Natasya on her hip. She kisses them both hello and puts Natasya into Sid’s arms, telling him to burp her while she goes and rounds up the rest of the gear to take.

Sid does as he’s told, following Zhenya through the house and into the backyard. Max calls a greeting and Zhenya drifts over, hugging him and trying to steal a sausage. It doesn’t work and Max whacks him on the hand with his spatula for his efforts.

“So, what the fuck’s going on?” Max asks once Sid settles on the porch, laughing as Natasya grabs for his nose.

“Who knows. He still hasn’t told me why he’s here,” Zhenya shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. Max grunts and flips some burgers.

“Zhenya! Sid!” Elena and Aleksis scream, and come racing towards them. Elena peals off for Sid’s affections while Aleksis tries to climb Zhenya like a tree until Zhenya gives in and hoists him up, letting the little boy kiss his cheek.

“Have you been a good boy for Mama and Papa?” he asks, and Aleksis wriggles in his arms, looking shamefaced. Zhenya scolds him and laughs when Aleksis pouts, inspecting his father’s grilling technique from Zhenya’s arms.

“Well, whatever’s going on, you need to figure it out and have some babies already. Your biological clock is deafening me,” Max huffs as Aleksis slides down Zhenya and races over to join his sister with Sid.

“Fuck off,” Zhenya snaps, watching Sid kiss the children hello and laugh as Elena boops Natasya on the nose.

 

*

 

Sid spends most of the game asking Zhenya a million questions about the rules, and cuddling far more than should be allowed.

It’s a warm day, high in the 20’s and there’s no excuse for how close he’s getting. They’re in public and Zhenya feels a little uncomfortable, but he stretches an arm along the back of Sid’s seat anyway and tries not to worry. Max has taken to shaking his head and muttering whenever he looks over, between shouting at the players and drinking his beer.

It’s halftime and Zhenya pulls his arm away, desperately craving some beer of his own.

“Are you getting food?” Sid asks, his eyes hopeful. Zhenya moans inwardly -- he had wanted the chance to have a breather and prepare himself for another half.

“Yes. Come?”

Sid gets up from his seat and follows Zhenya, pressed up against his back as they struggle past Max and Kate to the aisle. Sid sticks close all the way to the food vendors, peering at the unhealthy stuff for sale and biting on his lip.

“We probably shouldn’t…” Sid says, in the tone that Zhenya is well-versed with by now that means _convince me, please_.

“Is summer, Sid. Time for not good,” Zhenya winks, tapping his nose and using his superior height and weight to get the attention of the pretty young girl serving.

They head back to the seats laden down with chips, hot dogs and beer, and Zhenya can’t help but smile. He always wins the best fights.

 

Dynamo is up 2-1 and it’s a furious battle in the midfield; Zhenya’s relaxed and happy off the beer, his arm back around Sid’s chair while Sid leans into his side.

His gaze is wandering around the rows, taking in the joy and frustration on the faces of the fans. He’s laughing at an old man in Dynamo gear dancing near the front, about to tap Sid and pull him close to share, when his eye catches a woman with her children a few seats down, looking at him furiously. She hisses something at her children, who are all looking at them, and shoves them around, tutting at him and turning back to face the game. Zhenya runs cold and stiffens, pulling his arm from around Sid. Sid frowns, hurt racing across his face, but he shuts it down and turns to focus on the game.

Dynamo hold onto their lead and Aleksis is waving his flag furiously, hitting his sister in the face a few times before she smacks him and yells. Kate’s juggling the baby and the bags and Max has to pull them apart while Zhenya chuckles and looks on. He can’t wait to be doing that.

Sid’s quiet all the way back to Max’s, and they stay for dinner, Max grilling the rest of the food and discussing the game. Aleksis is showing Sid the offside rule with the salt and pepper shakers, chewing and talking with his mouth open. Zhenya’s on his other side, keeping his legs crossed so their thighs don’t touch.

“Don’t be a moron all your life,” Max whispers as they leave, Natasya sacked out in his arms. Zhenya drops a kiss on her head and follows Sid out to the car.

They drive back in silence and watch a few episodes of Friends, badly dubbed in Russian, until they’re tired enough to sleep. He follows Sid into the main bedroom and watches him -- not sure exactly what he’s looking for, or why. Any other night he’d be out drinking and dancing with his buddies, but barring a few excursions while Sid’s stayed in or been taken night touristing with Max and his family, they’ve spent it in one of the quietest summer’s Zhenya’s ever had.

Sid stands at the edge of the bed as Zhenya flops down face first, yawning loudly.

“What?” he asks, turning his face to look at Sid. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“I can sleep in the spare room, if it’s a problem,” Sid says quietly. Zhenya blinks. _Oh._ The football game.

“No problem,” Zhenya says, rolling to the side and letting Sid pull back the sheet and slide under. The fan is on, spinning lazily above them, and Zhenya feels warm all over.

“Are you sure?” Sid asks, a few beats later, turning to face him. He’s taken his shirt off, but Zhenya doesn’t have to try that hard to focus on his face. His eyes are a colour of hazel he doesn’t see in anyone but Sid. It’s intoxicating.

“I’m sure,” Zhenya says, reaching out to pat his arm. Sid grabs his hand and squeezes.

“We don’t have a problem with this, do we, G?” he continues, and Zhenya’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what they are, or where they’re going, or even why Sid’s _here_ instead of in Halifax. For whatever reason, this is what Sid wants.

“No problem, Sid. None at all,” Zhenya manages, wanting to shake apart as Sid gives him a brilliant smile and lets go of his hand to burrow into the pillows, the curve of his ass clearly visible through the thin sheet.

Zhenya feels like the strange intimacy between them is going to suffocate him, but he turns on his back and counts his breaths until he falls asleep, Sid’s back rising and falling next to him.

* * *

 

Zhenya’s birthday falls while Sid’s still there, and if he really thinks about it, all he wants is a nice evening out with Sid.

So, when Sid approaches him the day before and asks what he wants to do, he shrugs, one foot patting Jeffrey on the floor.

“We go for dinner, maybe movie after? Want quiet, simple.”

Sid looks a little taken aback.

“Are you sure? You don’t want to go clubbing or something? What about Ovechkin, Semin… we could go back to Magnitogorsk and see your family?”

Zhenya shakes his head; all he wants is here. He won’t tell Sid that, of course, but it just feels comfortable. It feels like what he _wants_.

“Nope. We go White Rabbit, maybe somewhere for dessert after?”

Sid nods and sits down on the couch with his laptop, determined to clear his email backlog as Zhenya rings for the reservations.

 

*

 

White Rabbit is a weird restaurant that Zhenya loves -- the entire place rotates around so you can see a 360 degree view of the city and there’s a fireplace and bar right in the middle. Sid’s too busy taking in the place so Zhenya has to guide him through to their chairs. He orders them wine and settles back, waiting.

Sid refuses to give him his present that morning, shifty and on his phone behind the bathroom door. He’s intrigued, that’s for sure.

“Present?” he asks, once their mains are served and Sid’s toasted him to his birthday. He smirks around his wine glass and reaches into his pocket for a piece of paper.

“I found them in Dubai. Don’t ask. But uh, I thought of you the second I saw them so I like… organised to have them shipped to Pittsburgh. I sent them to Mario’s, so when you get back we’ll hire a truck to move them,” he says. Zhenya’s eyes go wide. What the hell did Sidney buy that requires a truck?

“What you do, Sid?” Zhenya mutters, but thanks him and takes the paper.

He opens it up... and blinks.

There’s a picture of two huge -- and they are _huge_ , the guy standing next to them is at least 6’ tall and they’re taller than him -- penguins. One’s green and one’s blue. Zhenya’s in love immediately.

“Sid, oh my God, this-- fuck. Wow. Oh, wow.” He can barely get English out, and Sid’s giggling into his wine glass, flagging over the waiter to fill it up.

“Glad you like them, G. Like I said, as soon as I saw them I thought of you. They can go in your foyer or something,” Sid says, cutting into his steak.

“I’m call them Sid and Geno,” Zhenya says, and Sid pauses with his fork to his mouth, cheeks flushed.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says, but Zhenya shakes his head.

“Definitely. Sid and Geno. They stay with me always,” he says. Sid bites his lip and the smile he aims at Zhenya is a little less wide, but it’s so much more sweet and intimate that it almost chokes him.

“That sounds really great, Geno.”

 

The meal is great, and they’re two bottles of wine in when Sid pays for the meal and they head out into the street.

“You still wanna go to dessert? Or you wanna go find someone to, ah. Have fun with tonight?”

Zhenya frowns.

“Have fun with? I have fun with you, why I need someone else?”

Sid shrugs, hands in his pockets. He’s pressed closer to Zhenya than normal, the wine making him loose and happy.

“I booked a hotel room, in case you wanted to. It’s your birthday, you should celebrate. I’ve been around all summer so far, you haven’t had a chance to… y’know.” His cheeks match his lips, red and shiny from the wine. Zhenya can only imagine them wrapped around his dick, Sid’s ass high in the air as he rubs off against Zhenya’s bed. Fuck.

“No, Sid, I’m…”

“I mean, I’d give you a blowjob but you have to take me for coffee after if you wanna keep partying,” Sid cuts him off, laughing at what is apparently a joke. Zhenya’s jaw is slack. Did Sidney just offer to give him a _blowjob_?

Zhenya’s obviously gone mad from sexual frustration and pining. That, paired with the wine and good food and Sidney so close to him, it’s driven him insane.

He manages to force a laugh, and latches onto the coffee instead.

“There good coffee place nearby. We can go there, Volkonsky. Good syrniki,” Zhenya says. Sid sighs, his head tipped back to stare at the sky, and nods.

“Sure, Geno. Sounds great,” he says, turning to smile at him and tugs at Zhenya’s arm until he leads the way to the cab rank.

Sid doesn’t say anything else, seeming to calm down while they’re drinking coffee and sampling from the dessert platters. He listens to Zhenya telling him stories about what he and Denis used to do when they were younger, laughing along in the right places and swapping his own stories about moments from his own youth -- mostly hockey related.

It’s a great night and he feels happy and settled as they head back to Zhenya’s apartment, his arm slung around Sid’s shoulder as he munches on a vatrushka, the cream gathered at the corners of his mouth.

“Sid, such a mess,” Zhenya tsks, using his thumb to wipe it away. Sid’s eyes are wide and round, and when he thanks him, he sounds breathless. Zhenya puts it down to his own wishful thinking and pulls away to unlock the door, using his knee to keep Jeffrey back as they struggle inside.

“Did you have a good birthday? I feel bad that you didn’t get to, y’know. Properly celebrate,” Sid says as they get into bed, and Zhenya rolls his eyes.

“Had great birthday, Sid. Promise. Excited for penguins,” he grins and Sid flushes, relaxing into the bed.

“Okay,” he says and Zhenya bites his lip and moves a little closer, wanting to be as close to Sid as he dares.

“Night, Sid,” he says as Sid turns his back to Zhenya, yawning.

“Night, Geno,” he yawns back, shuffling until their legs tangle together. Zhenya falls asleep with a huge, goofy grin on his face. Best birthday _ever_.

 

* * *

 

The next couple of weeks pass in much of the same manner -- they visit a few more cities, Zhenya playing translator and Sid taking a billion photos, testing out new places to eat and falling into bed together at night. Zhenya’s too weak to say no, and Sid never acts reluctant or strange about it so he lets it continue, not even sure he could stop.

Then, Sid comes to him on the first week of August.

Zhenya’s out on the balcony, enjoying the dying sunshine and Sid’s puttering around inside, looking for something. They’re going to Max’s for a barbecue, meeting up with Sanja and Seryozha for a family thing. Zhenya had expected Sid to stutter out a blush about not wanting to intrude when Zhenya told him in bed the night before, but he’d just smiled and agreed, rolling over to stretch out on what had become _his_ side to fall asleep.

He wonders when Sid’s going to stop surprising him.

“G?” Sid says, leaning against the doorway.

“ _Da_ ,” Zhenya says, knuckling his eyes. Jeffrey’s heavy on his legs, whuffling against his stomach. He misses his puppy so much when he’s away.

“I, uh. I probably should head back to Canada soon, the next couple of days. It’s August and camp starts up in a few weeks. Need to see my family and meet up with Andy,” Sid says. Zhenya knew this was coming, but it doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“Okay,” Zhenya says, hating the way his voice sounds petulant, even to his ears. This summer has been amazing, one of the best he’s ever had, and it’s… he doesn’t even know how to vocalise how much he’s enjoyed Sid being around and present.

“You should come with me,” Sid continues, and _that_ Zhenya wasn’t expecting. He opens his eyes and looks up at Sid, who’s leaning against the door, his expression open and clear. There’s no frown lines, no worry, just… him.

“Okay,” he says. Sid smiles and nods.

 

*

 

The barbecue becomes Zhenya’s announcement that he’s returning to North America, and nobody looks surprised.

It should concern him more, but he’s so loose and easy, this summer doing more for him than any of the others ever have, that he just… finds he doesn’t care. Maybe this is what Sid had intended when he asked to come along. Maybe he wanted to help Zhenya unwind, and wanted Zhenya to help him unwind.

Sid takes care of their flights and Zhenya organises Jeffrey’s transport with the usual company, and they bid goodbye to him the night before.

Sid hands over the tickets and waits. Zhenya raises an eyebrow and looks at them, and-- _oh_.

“Halifax?” he asks. Sid nods.

“I want to take you to Nova Scotia and show you around, so you can meet all my people?” Sid tries. Zhenya is feeling desperate and completely out of his depth, but he swallows and nods. Sid comes up to him and presses close, and Zhenya reaches for his wrist, fingers clasping around it and squeezing.

“What…” he starts, unsure of how to finish. Sid licks his lips, and Zhenya tracks the movement. Sid might be the one they all pay attention to, on the ice, with his skill born of dedication and natural talent… but Zhenya isn’t so bad. He spent years on the ice as well, in second hand skates and with a battered stick, but he did it. He tracks the puck and hustles for possession and isn’t afraid of board battles or sticking up for what’s right, no matter how misguided. He is passionate and elemental, running hot or cold and every shade in between. That’s who he _is_ , that’s what he does.

He tracks Sid’s tongue, and watches as Sid goes up on the balls of his feet to press those lips against Zhenya’s. He can’t help but close his eyes, let Sid press kiss after kiss against his mouth, sucking his bottom lip and tracing the seam with his tongue. Neither of their lips are chapped, probably the only time all year they won’t be. It feels so good.

He wants to take Sid to bed.

“I want you to… I want you,” Sid says breathily as he pulls back, fingers clutching at Zhenya’s biceps. Even kissing is enough to make him worry, and he can feel the fear of it coursing through his veins. He knows Sid feels the same, can see it in his eyes.

“Didn’t know,” Zhenya says. Sid looks frustrated.

“I thought coming with you to Russia was a pretty good declaration of my intentions,” he says. He goes back down on the flat of his feet and lets his hands drag down Zhenya’s arms, until their fingers tangle together. It’s like being sixteen again, and he feels reckless, hot all over and burning with it.

“How long?” Zhenya asks. Sid shrugs, looks at the ground, looks back up again.

“A while,” he evades. Zhenya snorts and Sid smirks.

“Okay, a long while. After the cup. Before the lockout.”

“That a while,” Zhenya agrees. Sid looks embarrassed.

“I have secret. I like you… since Vancouver. Maybe since cup? Not sure. Been a while too,” he says, unable to help from his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

Sid’s eyes go wide, and then he flushes dark, so pleased. Zhenya wants to make him look like that every day for the rest of their lives.

“I want to… we can’t, here, can we? But, Canada?” Sid says, and Zhenya sighs. They’ve been sharing a bed for almost the whole time Sid’s been in Moscow, and _now_ he wants to reinforce this chaste shit? Zhenya has a moment of madness, of saying fuck it and dragging Sid between his sheets to mess him up, until he’s sated and splashed with Zhenya’s come.

“Canada,” Zhenya agrees. He’s got a half-used box of condoms in his side drawer but he’s all out of lube, and hadn’t planned on stocking up for a while. He’s got a reason now, it seems.

“Okay. I’m gonna finish packing,” Sid says, and steps back. Zhenya misses the feel of Sid’s swollen fingers between his.

 

* * *

 

Sid’s house in Nova Scotia is on the outskirts, set on a huge block with heaps of privacy and space. It’s kind of… there’s a _lot_ of pink.

Zhenya wonders if his coming back from Russia early is enough to make a stir. Probably not. His return after the lockout prompted Twitter stalking at the airport, one of the pictures making a retweet on the official Penguins account that sent everyone into a spin, but since then his comings and goings aren’t scrutinised -- not like Sid’s.

Sid’s showing him around the house; four bedrooms, five bathrooms, huge pool out the back and acreage, and Zhenya’s had enough. He’s spent fourteen hours on two planes, he’s hungry and Sid’s wearing a criminally tight shirt.

He pushes Sid against the pantry door and shoves a leg between his thighs, relishing the way Sid’s eyes droop and that flush comes back.

“Don’t care-- want you. Shower, then we fuck.”

Sid doesn’t even get a chance to reply, Zhenya’s hand around his wrist as he tugs him upstairs, Sid fumbling behind him, making aborted comments about the luggage and needing to organise food.

“Food wait, you eat my dick,” Zhenya says. Sid bursts into laughter and Zhenya grins, pushing him into the master bathroom and kicking the door shut behind them.

Sid reaches in to turn the shower on, and Zhenya’s down to his briefs when he turns back. His mouth drops a little, and he licks his lips again. Fuck.

“Undress,” Zhenya barks, and Sid rolls his eyes but pulls his shirt off and Zhenya bites back on a groan. He wants to taste and touch and, _ugh_. Sid strips bare and smirks over his shoulder as he climbs into the ridiculous shower, with a million water jets set into the walls and massaging pulses and all manner of craziness.

Zhenya follows him in and watches as he soaps up his hair, humming like his dick isn’t half-hard and he’s not blatantly presenting his ass to Zhenya.

He comes up behind Sid and slides his hands through Sid’s soapy hair, letting Sid lean back against him as he massages his fingers against Sid’s scalp, listening to the happy sounds that come from him.

“Let me,” Sid says, once the shampoo’s washed out. Zhenya bows his head and lets Sid return the favour, before he pushes Sid against the wall and leans in to kiss him. Sid gets a leg around his hip and tilts up, the water sluicing between them. Zhenya’s dick is hard, his balls tight.

“Want fuck you so bad,” Zhenya moans in Sid’s ear, relishing the shudder that goes through him.

“Don’t you wanna… fuck, ease into it?” Sid asks, breathy. Zhenya pauses.

“You want… just hands? Mouth? Don’t have to, if not--” he starts, wrong-footed. He’d assumed Sid was on board with going the whole way, but he doesn’t want to be one of those asshole partners who just push their shit onto everyone else and expect them to fall in line.

Sid rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around Zhenya’s neck, kissing him hard.

“I want you inside me. I want you _bare_ ,” he whispers, before shoving Zhenya back and reaching for the soap. Zhenya groans and fists his dick, watches as Sid cleans himself, pushing between his ass cheeks and he squeezes his eyes shut; he can’t watch that, otherwise he’s going to finish early and he’s 28, there’s no way he’ll be ready for another round quick enough.

He soaps himself down and steps out, rubbing himself with a towel and wandering into Sid’s room. He realises the condoms and lube are still downstairs, and pauses. Sid said he wanted Zhenya bare. God, who the fuck even says shit like that?

“You lost?” Sid’s voice comes from behind, and Zhenya turns to see Sid towelling off, smiling.

“Uh, no. Was thinking… bare?” he asks. Sid bites his bottom lip.

“I’ve never had anyone without a condom, and we had the panels done before the end of the season. I just thought, maybe… we don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Sid says, and Zhenya shakes his head and walks up to him, pulling him in and kissing him.

“Want come inside you, mess you up, make you _mine_ ,” he growls and Sid moans, clutching at his shoulders and grinding their cocks together.

“Bed,” he says and Zhenya pulls them back towards it, toppling Sid onto it and crawling on top. He gets a grind going and it’s all kissing and planes of bare skin, Zhenya leaving his mark on Sid’s neck and collarbone. He’s making his way south when Sid twists and reaches for his bedside cabinet, fumbling inside and lobbing something at Zhenya. It falls on the bed and he looks up from where he’s sucking a bruise on the cut of Sid’s hip, to see lube.

He wrinkles his nose-- he doesn’t like Astroglide, too sticky, but Sid’s the one who’s getting the dick up his ass so he just starts sucking Sid’s cock while he works a finger inside, two and three joining soon after.

“Geno, c’mon,” Sid whines, his thigh flexing around, the heel of his foot digging into Zhenya’s back. He rolls his eyes.

“So hurry,” he huffs but sits up and hands Sid the lube.

“Lube me,” he says. Sid rolls his eyes but sits up, pouring a line up Zhenya’s dick and fisting him a few times. Zhenya tips his head back and swears, and Sid leans up to press a kiss against his throat, sucking his own mark there for the world to see.

Sid leans back and lets go of Zhenya’s dick, fisting his own and shoving a pillow under his back.

“C’mon,” he says, using his legs to pull Zhenya closer, lining him up where he wants him.

Sinking into Sid is like nothing else, and he has to breathe through it, thinking the unsexiest thoughts possible so he doesn’t shoot too early. Sid’s still, watching him and waiting for something.

“You okay?” Zhenya asks once he’s fully in, balls pressing against Sid’s ass. Sid nods, hand moving slowly up and down his dick.

“Go,” Sid says and Zhenya starts to move, bracing himself over Sid and tilting his hips until he gets it just right, Sid throwing his head back against the pillows and swearing a blue streak.

“Fuck yeah, Geno, right there, shit,” he gasps out and Zhenya’s nothing if not dedicated to achieving perfection, and does exactly what he’s told.

Sid shudders apart around him, striping Zhenya’s stomach with his come, thick, white strands sliding across his muscles. Zhenya doesn’t last much longer, and Sid squeezes around his dick, pulling him down so they press together, kissing him deep and lush.

“Come on, G, fill me up, fuck me so good,” Sid begs and Zhenya groans, pumping a few more times before he loses it, coming hard.

“Fuck,” he says, flopping down on Sid, face pressed against Sid’s neck. Sid keeps a leg around him, not letting him move. He can feel the come start to leak out of Sid’s ass, around his dick, tacky with lube and jizz.

He pulls back, enough for his dick to slide free, and reaches a finger down to circle at Sid’s hole, red and puffy.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, watching as his come trickles down into Sid’s ass.

“Geno,” Sid says and he leans in to kiss him, a finger still playing with the edge of Sid as he goes.

They lie there for a while until their stomachs rumble, and Sid insists they shower first, still mussed from the sex and weak from the intimacy.

Sid had organised to have a delivery before they arrived so his fridge is full, and Zhenya throws together some salad and chicken while Sid showers. He drifts into the kitchen and pulls Zhenya in for a kiss, smiling happily against his lips and stealing a tomato.

“Naughty,” Zhenya chides but follows him to the tiny kitchen table, their knees knocking as they settle in and eat, soft and pliable.

“I’m happy,” Sid says when they’re done, sighing and patting his stomach. Zhenya nods and yawns, wondering if they have time for a nap. Sid’s biting his lip though, watching Zhenya stretch with a different kind of hunger.

“You want again?” Zhenya asks, feeling a little amused. Sid just nods and reaches for him.

 

* * *

 

If Sid’s parents are surprised that their son brings a tall, awkward Russian to dinner, they don’t show it. He’s met Sid’s parents countless times before, but they were always in Pittsburgh and he hadn’t spent the day in bed with their son, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of him.

Trina kisses his cheeks and fusses over the wine and flowers Zhenya insisted they have, and Troy shakes his hand and asks how their off-season training went. Taylor’s in Minnesota until tomorrow at some camp, so it’s just the four of them.

Dinner’s nice; Zhenya’s quiet and content to let Sid catch up with his parents, but Sid drops a hand and rests it on his thigh halfway through. Zhenya stiffens a little, but he leaves Sid there and finishes his chicken.

“My parents know I like guys… they know I’ve been hung up on you for a while, too. Bringing you here was kind of like, showing them that we’re… you know,” Sid explains when they get back to his later that night, calm and happy from the evening.

“You know?” Zhenya jokes. Sid slugs him in the arm but wriggles into Zhenya’s embrace, tilting his face up for a kiss.

“Together,” Sid says when they part, and Zhenya smacks a kiss against his forehead.

“Yes, together. Silly Canadian. Could just ask, not have come to Russia,” he say. Sid shakes his head.

“I wanted to. I wanted to see Russia, to see you happy for the summer. I didn’t want to risk that by like, making a move if it wasn’t… wanted.”

“Always want you, Sid. No worries,” Zhenya says. Sid just leans up to kiss him again, and smiles against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> All the places mentioned in Moscow and Sochi are real -- restaurants, bars/clubs etc. Gogol does have a Europeans-only policy and White Rabbit rotates 360 degrees for an amazing view of the city. It's probably not feasible for them to visit as many places as they do in a day, so a bit of belief suspension is required there. [This](http://instagram.com/p/bT-eWfKjvO/) is one of the penguin things I was referring to, except I made it/them bigger. I'm pretty sure I didn't dream up there being a huge blue one but I can't find the pictures anywhere. **ETA:** [Here's](http://instagram.com/p/bT-amnqjvI/) the huge blue one, thanks @sp303738 for the link.


End file.
